


Family

by Lady10



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-26 13:40:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6241459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady10/pseuds/Lady10
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is mostly because of St. Patrick's Day coming up and I have alluded to Calleigh's Irish heritage in Steel Magnolia. What happens when a very Irish Grandmother comes to pay a visit?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Family

**_Family_ **

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“Wait, did you see that?” Calleigh asked Ryan as they swabbed the bed sheet for biologicals. “That brown stain.”

 

“Yeah, I see it,” Ryan replied, running a fresh swab over it. “Considering how disgusting this sheet is already, I'm not taking bets on what this is.”

 

Calleigh couldn't help ribbing him just a little. “Some of that old OCD rearing it's ugly head?”

 

“Now look, I can dig in trash and I don't mind getting my hands dirty, but just think, somebody slept on that and somebody else probably left it there. All I'm saying is that I'll never lay on another hotel bed again,” Ryan retorted as Calleigh's cell rang.

 

She held up her hand as she answered it, “Duquesne.....sure, I'll be down there in a minute.” She cut the connection and turned to Ryan. “I'll be right back. Gloria says I have a visitor.”

 

“You expecting anyone?” he asked.

 

“No and she says that it isn't my dad. See you in a few.”

 

 

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

 

 

 

Eric was by Reception checking his messages when a petite, elderly, flame red-haired woman walked in. She stopped for a moment and let her eyes adjust to the shade of the lobby before heading over to the Reception desk. Something about her seemed very familiar to Eric, but he couldn't place what. He knew he couldn't have possibly seen her anywhere before because he'd remember that hair, yet that familiarity.....

 

“Can I help you, ma'am?” he asked politely.

 

“Thank you, dear, but I'm just here visitin' my granddaughter,” the woman replied with a strong Irish brogue.

 

Before Eric could ask if he might know her, the elevator dinged and Calleigh stepped out. Eric saw as her eyes went wide and she broke into one of the most beautiful smiles he had ever seen.

 

“Gran!” she cried in delight and ran into the other woman's outstretched arms where she was hugged and kissed until her face went red. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I came to visit my wee granddaughter. Now stan' back so I can look at ya, Calleigh,” she said, although she pronounced the name kay-lee. “You're tired, muirnin. Ya haven't been getting' enough sleep again.”

 

“I had to work a couple of double shifts. I'll catch up on the weekend,” Calleigh said. “You came all this way to see me? Is there anything wrong back home?”

 

“Everythin's fine, Calleigh. Don't ya be worrin' about it. I missed ya and haven't spoken to ya in so long so I decided to come and pay a visit,” Calleigh's grandmother said. “I was hopin' to be spendin' St. Paddy's Day with ya.”

 

“Of course, Gran. You just caught me off guard, that's all. Would you like to come up and have a tour of the Lab? I can't bring you into any of the lab rooms because we deal with extremely sensitive evidence, but we have glass walls and you'll be able to see plenty,” Calleigh offered.

 

“I would love it. I was hopin' I might get to see where my muirnin worked,” she replied with a bright smile very much like Calleigh's.

 

Calleigh was retrieving a visitor's pass from the desk when she noticed Eric standing there. “Hey, how long have you been there?”

 

“Some CSI you are,” Eric teased, “Long enough to have talked to your grandma before you did, although I didn't know she was your grandma.”

 

“Well then I'll introduce you,” she said, sliding her arm into his. “Gran, this is my partner, Eric Delko and Eric, this is my Gran, Maureen Barry O'Sullivan.”

 

Eric extended his hand to the elderly woman. “It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

 

Maureen knocked his hand aside and embraced him, placing a quick kiss to his cheek. “None of these handshakes for you; not for somebody who often holds my granddaughter's life in his hands.”

 

Eric gave Calleigh a pointed look as she grinned at him. “Did I forget to mention that my Gran is aggressively friendly?”

 

 

 

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> 

 

 

 

“That's Tox, where I spent some time a couple of years ago, and there's Trace over there,” Calleigh narrated as she maneuvered her grandmother through the corridor. “That man in the lab coat is one of our field CSI's. His name is Ryan Wolfe. We were working together to analyze stains found on a hotel bed sheet when you arrived.”

 

“Is he the one ya told me about gettin' fired last year?” Maureen asked quietly.

 

“Yeah, after a whole lot of red tape and fuss, Horatio managed to get him hired back. I don't know how he did it,” Calleigh said as her pager went off. She glanced down at it and swore mildly under her breath. When could the citizens of Miami ever stop killing each other? “Gran, I have to go. I have a call-out for a homicide. I don't want to just leave you here......Hey Eric, are you busy right now?”

 

“No, I was heading out for lunch. Do you want something?” He asked, walking over to her.

 

“I just got a call out and I can't leave my Gran here and I can't bring her with me-”

 

“Whyever not, Calleigh? I'd love to see ya work..”

 

“Gran, murder scenes are often violent and messy. They smell bad and are horribly gruesome sometimes. I don't want you to have to see that,” Calleigh countered.

 

“Need I remind ya, child, that I've dodged Catholic bullets and lost my own sister to an IRA bomb? I've seen far worse than your crime scene,” Maureen stated.

 

“I also don't know how long it'll take to process and I don't want you sitting in a hot Hummer in the middle of Miami.” Calleigh turned to Eric. “Can you do me a huge favor and take my Gran back to my place?”

 

“Sure thing, Cal.” Eric offered his arm to Maureen. “If you'll allow me, Mrs. O'Sullivan.”

 

 

 

 


	2. Maureen Barry O'Sullivan

**_Maureen Barry O'Sullivan_ **

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Eric escorted Calleigh's grandmother to the motor pool and signed out a Hummer. Like the gentleman he was raised to be, he held the door open for her and helped her up into the behemoth vehicle before going to his own side and getting in.

 

“Ya know the way to my Calleigh's, then?” Maureen asked, looking him over.

 

“Yes, ma'am, I do. Calleigh and I have been friends for a long time. There was a time that we'd do pizza and movies at her place every Friday night with another one of our teammates,” Eric said, feeling oddly comfortable around the diminutive Irish woman.

 

Maureen eyed him closely. “Ya said 'used to'; what happened that ya don't anymore?”

 

“Speedle was killed in the line of duty. It was too hard to do after he died,” Eric said, steering into traffic.

 

“'Tis a sad thing, that's for sure, to lose a good friend like that. Calleigh told me about it. She cried like a babe, she did. She said he was like a big brother to her and they were very close. She said that he made a last request of her, to sing at his funeral. She said she did,” Maureen said, trying to get to know the young man that her granddaughter told her so much about.

 

“She has a beautiful voice,” Eric murmured quietly, remembering Speed's funeral. “His mom told us that he had overheard Cal one morning at the Lab and he wanted to share with those he loved what he heard.”

 

“And what of ya, son?” Maureen said, switching the topic in a mind blowing speed.

 

“Me?”

 

“Are ya the Russian-Cuban that my Calleigh is so fond of?” she asked.

 

Eric concentrated on the road for a moment before answering. “I guess that's me. My dad is Russian and my mom is Cuban. They were viceros, or refugees, from Cuba. I was born here, but my sisters were all born in Cuba.”

 

Maureen was silent for a while. “Eric, if ya don't mind spendin' some time with an old woman, can we make a detour? If ya have the patience I think ya do, I'll make it worth your while.”

 

“Sure, Mrs. O'Sullivan,” Eric said. “Where do you need to go?”

 

Maureen gave him detailed directions and he took her everywhere she needed to go, getting the “essentials” for any Irish household, including Guinness stout and Bushmill's Irish Whiskey, despite knowing Calleigh's reluctance to have any alcohol in her home. Maureen bought all the makings for both brown and Irish soda breads as well as enough yellow “floury” potatoes and Belgian endive to knock over a horse and they weren't finished. She bought Irish butter by the pound and cheese and sea salt; sausages, lamb and more. Eric didn't know that all those things could even be found in Miami.

 

Finally, she was done with the shopping and they brought everything back to Calleigh's and Eric helped her lug the groceries in. He called in to Horatio, letting him know where he was and to page him if he was needed. Horatio had sounded amused by the information and gave Eric the rest of the afternoon off.

 

When Eric made his way back into Calleigh's kitchen he found Maureen hard at work. She had already stowed the groceries. She was mixing something in a large bowl.

 

“I called in and let Horatio know where I was in case he had an emergency. Cal gets more call outs than I do. She's H's second in command and takes a larger work load.”

 

“That girl will work herself to death, she will,” Maureen observed, pouring an amount of buttermilk into the dry mix without measuring and adding a good shot of the whiskey as well. “Ya seem to me to be a grand young man and care a great deal about my granddaughter. Promise me that you'll look out for my sweet Calleigh. I know she tries to be as tough as old shoe leather, but I know her heart and I still worry about her.”

 

“I already do, Mrs. O'Sullivan,” he admitted before asking. “What are you making?”

 

“Part of your reward for spending time with an old woman,” she replied cryptically, now shaping the dough into a round and placing it on a baking sheet, cutting a deep X in the center. She then crossed to the counter and doled out a few potatoes, an onion, carrots and all the cubed lamb. “Are ya handy with a knife?”

 

Eric stood and helped her carry everything to the kitchen table. “Yes, ma'am, I am. I like to cook.”

 

Maureen gazed up at him, a twinkle in her eyes so much like her granddaughter's. “Good; then ya cut up the vegetables and I'll start browning the meat. You're helpin' me to make the stew.”

 

Eric couldn't help but grin at her. “Now I see where Calleigh gets her spirit.”

 

“That's my girl. She always was high spirited growing up. I think that was the only reason she survived that disaster of a family of hers. Now don't get me wrong, I love my daughter, but she married just the wrong man. Kenwall can be just as charmin' as a blue jay when he's sober, but he's useless when he's on the drink. And Bridget? Too easily led into the drink. It's a curse of bein' Irish sometimes. I think it's in the blood that we tend to love drink more than we should,” Maureen said, giving Eric a glimpse of Calleigh's family that he had only guessed about.

 

“Cal doesn't talk much about her family. I guess, knowing that, I'd be kind of quiet, too,” Eric said thoughtfully, chunking the potatoes into large cubes and then placing them in ice water.

 

“Did ya know that Calleigh had a pet lamb growing up?” Maureen asked.

 

Eric couldn't help but laugh. “No, I didn't. I thought she didn't grow up on a farm.”

 

“She didn't. The lamb was with her grandda and I. She loved that thing and would pamper him for hours every time she visited. She wouldn't let her grandda slaughter him for meat, either. She actually begged for his life and learned to shear, card, wash, spin and knit wool so that he'd be considered useful. I guess he loved her back because he'd follow her around like a puppy wherever she went. She wouldn't eat lamb until she was almost an adult and Winston had died a very old sheep,” Maureen said. “Eric, dear, get me a Guinness, please.”

 

Eric rose and retrieved the Guinness from the refrigerator and handed it to her. “Is that why her father calls her 'Lambchop'?”

 

“He teased her mercilessly about Winston, but yes, that's why,” she said, cracking open the bottle and pouring half it's contents into the stew pot with the now browned meat. “Guinness makes it richer and one for the cook doesn't hurt.”

 

Eric brought her the rest of the vegetables and she dumped it all into the pot, seasoning it lightly with salt and pepper before covering the pot and turning it down low. She retrieved the same bowl that she used for the other bread and began piling ingredients into it without measuring. She stirred it all together and spooned it into several small loaf pans, setting them aside to rest.

 

“Mrs. O'Sullivan, you must be tired after your trip. Why don't you take a nap for a little while? I can keep an eye on the stew and bread,” Eric offered, realizing the amount of work the woman was doing.

 

“Sleep is for babes and the elderly and I am neither. Now get me four good sized potatoes and the endive. We're makin' colcannon. If we don't, Calleigh will be disappointed,” she said briskly.

 

“I'm sure she doesn't expect you to cook all this food for her,” Eric said, doing as he was told. He took the knife and began finely cutting the potatoes into small chunks.

 

Maureen began to chop the endive. “No, my muirnin doesn't expect it of me, but she knows that I will no matter what she says. Ya see, these are comfort foods for her. When it was bad at home, she'd come to our farm and tell me what was wrong over soda bread and tea. Sometimes she'd stay the night and I'd wake her with fresh bread and a good breakfast before school. Her grandda and I didn't live too far outside town and Calleigh either walked or ran everywhere. Sure, her parents had plenty and she never went without all the material comforts she needed, but when the drink flowed and things got bad, she was in want of what she could get with us. I've probably said too much since ya said that she doesn't talk much about her family.”

 

Eric was quiet for a long time before speaking. “I'm glad you told me, Mrs. O'Sullivan. It explains some things that always puzzled me about Calleigh.”

 

The oven timer dinged and Maureen pulled out the golden, fragrant loaf of soda bread and set it aside before putting the small loaves in the oven and resetting the timer. She placed the potatoes in one pot and the endive in another, salting the water in both pots with a little sea salt. Retrieving a kettle, she poured herself and Eric a cup of tea each.

 

Eric poured a little sugar and milk in his. “Mrs. O'Sullivan, did you really dodge bullets in Ireland?”

 

“Yes, I did, lad. I grew up in Belfast and the city was divided in two at the time. I hear it still is, but things aren't as bad since the Good Friday Peace Accord. They've mostly stopped bombin' each other and shootin' each other. Now it seems that they're down to a nasty word every now and then. But not when I was growin' up. I know what a shot up body looks like. I know what they smell like, too.”

 

“I've never lived anywhere but Miami,” Eric said, his natural curiosity overwhelming him. To him, Mrs. O'Sullivan was wildly exotic. “What's Ireland like?”

 

Maureen took a long sip of tea, retrieving the soda bread and butter and cutting some slices before settling herself down for some storytelling.“Well, I will be tellin' ya, it's a lot colder than here! But we have palm trees too, on the west coast, thanks to the Gulf Stream. It's that same Gulf Stream that keeps it from getting' too hot or too cold. In the city it was very dirty when I was growin' up and there were a lot of poor folk linin' up outside the St. Vincent dePaul Society to get things like clothes and shoes. But that was on the Catholic side of town. The Protestant side wasn't really any better, but we thought it was.

 

“But, lad, once ya got out into the country.....it was green as a green there ever was as far as your eye could see. And it wasn't just one green. There were many greens only to be broken up by low stone fences and little fluffy sheep, some black faces and some white and the occasional farmhouse or cottage. It rained for a little while every day, too, which made the green all the greener. The rain normally falls softly on ya, almost as light as a mist, but not nearly as heavy as a drizzle. In Cornwall they call it a mizzle and I think that's a grand way to describe it. Nothin' smells like Ireland. The freshness of the grass and the earthiness of the dirt and somethin' else, maybe it's Ireland's faery past that rolls down through time. If ya notice that butter on your bread, that's from Ireland and it tastes different than the butter here. It's sweeter and richer. That's the gift of the fae, Eric and Ireland is a place steeped in tales of Giants and Kings, Heroes and Magic. The Tuatha de Dannan ruled Ireland long before the Celts came from across the sea and chased them into the hollow hills and far underground. The Great Brian Boru, High King of all Ireland and Cu Chullian, the Hound of Ulster and many more heroes and villains roamed the land”

 

Eric leaned in, caught up in the narrative as if he were still a little boy and chewed on his soda bread. He could almost taste that faery magic that she said was in the butter. He was swept away, seeing green hills and heroes bravely battling and feasting a drinking far into the night in grand halls glittering in faery light. He was so enthralled by the tales that he jumped when his phone rang, breaking the magic spell.

 

Annoyed, he reached for it. “Delko.”

 

“Hey Eric, everything okay? Did Gran settle in alright?” Calleigh asked.

 

“Yeah. In fact I'm still at your place with her. She's been telling me stories about Ireland,” Eric replied around a mouthful of warm soda bread.

 

“Let me see....that sounds like soda bread dripping in Irish butter and Irish faery stories, am I right?” Calleigh said, her voice musical with stifled laughter.

 

“Yeah,” he said.

 

“Can you tell Gran that I'm afraid I'll have to be late tonight and for her not to wait up for me? And don't eat all the soda bread,” Calleigh admonished with good humor. “Oh, and Eric, watch out for the Pooka on the way home. Don't let him catch you and if you see an old woman washing clothes on the beach, avoid her at all costs and go straight home. Bye.”

 

“What did my Calleigh tell ya?”

 

“She said she'll be late so don't wait up and for me to stay away from old women washing clothes on the beach and to avoid the Pooka. What's she talking about?” Eric asked, reaching for another piece of bread.

 

“Sit back, my lad and I'll tell ya,” Maureen began.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Tender Loving Care

**_Tender Loving Care_ **

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It was after 10 pm when Calleigh finally opened her front door and quietly slipped inside. Without turning on the light, she placed her keys and purse on the hall table, unclipped her badge and removed her holster, storing her gun in her gun safe for the night. Locking the safe door, she became aware of cooking smells and smiled, shaking her head. Gran had taken over her kitchen again. No doubt, judging by her earlier conversation with Eric, Gran had filled his belly with Irish foods and his head with Irish faery stories and legends before sending him home.

 

She slipped out of her shoes and quietly padded to her bedroom to check on her grandmother, making sure she was comfortable for the night. Satisfied that she was sleeping peacefully, Calleigh turned and went into her kitchen, turning on the light. Immediately she saw the note.

 

_Calleigh,_

_I know you're coming in late and like your grandda used to, you probably forgot to eat. Your supper is in the oven._ _Eat up, child. I know you're hungry._

_I spent all afternoon and part of the evening with your young man, Eric. Calleigh, I do believe that boy loves you with all his heart but he hasn't raised the courage to tell you yet. You ought to think about settling down with him, even if he isn't Irish and he's Catholic. He is kind and honest; respects his elders and is a good listener. Above all that he has a good heart and is a gentleman. He loves you. He didn't say as much to me, but I could see it every time he said your name. I'm your Gran and I know. I just hope you love him back._

_Eat up, muirnin and sleep well. I'll wake you in plenty of time for you to get to work protecting the people of Miami._

_Love,_

_Gran_

Calleigh smiled. “Why can't she move to Miami?” she asked no one, or perhaps the universe or all the Irish Gods at once. She moved to the oven and opened the door. Inside she found some of the stew, a small pile of the colcannon and a couple of slices of brown bread. Her grandmother had left the oven on low so everything was still nice and warm. Calleigh retrieved her meal and turned the oven off. She sat down at the table where her grandmother had set a place for her, complete with salt, pepper and good Irish butter. Crossing to the refrigerator, she took a bottle of Guinness and, giving herself permission because of the meal, she cracked it open and set it before her. Inhaling the fragrant and comforting aromas, she ate with an appetite she forgot she had.

 

While she ate, she mulled over her Gran's words. Eric loved her? They were close, closer than she had ever known people of the opposite sex could be without it being romantic. She knew she loved Eric like she had never loved anyone before. She loved his temper and his child-like enthusiasm and his sense of humor. She loved his quick wit and keen intelligence. She loved his utter loyalty and his unerring sense of justice. She loved that, with him, chivalry wasn't dead yet he showed a deep and passionate nature. She loved that he gave his heart completely and always wore it on his sleeve. She loved all his little flaws. She loved _him_. Gran said that she could see that he loved her. Could he?

 

Shaking her head, Calleigh finished the last of her stew and the last bite of brown bread and realized that she was suddenly very sleepy. She wasn't used to eating such a heavy and filling supper and the food and alcohol weighed on her. She drowsily made her way to the bathroom and got herself washed up for bed, changed into her pyjamas and then laid down on the couch, covering herself with the quilt that her Gran had made her when she was only five. It was mere moments before she drifted off.

 

 

 

ECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECE

 

 

 

It was he aroma that woke her. It was warm and doughy, balcony and eggy which was entirely wrong, given that it was a Friday morning. More than that: Calleigh lived alone. She rolled over and nearly fell off the sofa. That's when she remembered that her Gran was visiting. She stretched and tossed the quilt aside, sitting up.

 

“About time ya woke up; it's nearly half past five!” her Gran said, coming into the living room with a hot cup of tea in her hand. She gave it to Calleigh. “I was just comin' to wake ya. I can't have ya late for work.”

 

“Thanks, Gran,” Calleigh said, sipping the hot tea, savoring the leafy aroma.

 

“I made ya good breakfast and have taken the liberty of packin' ya a decent lunch. Ya had too much take away in the refrigerator. You'll ruin your health that way,” Maureen scolded lovingly.

 

Calleigh sighed. “Gran, I'm a CSI, a cop; I'm too tired to cook when I get home. I have to catch the bad guys and bring them to justice, remember?”

 

“Now ya know that ya can't do that if you're all run down from bad fast food,” Maureen countered. They had danced this verbal dance before. “Now get yourself to the table and have something nourishing. You're too skinny. Off with ya.”

 

Calleigh had lost and she knew it. “Yes, Gran.”

 

 

 

ECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECE

 

 

 

“Hi guys,” Calleigh said, entering the break room and stowing her Lumberjack sized lunch bag in the refrigerator. “Do you have anything planned for this evening?”

 

Ryan looked up from the morning paper. “Why?”

 

“Yeah, why?” Eric echoed, giving Calleigh an appraising look. “By the way, you look great today.”

 

Calleigh felt her cheeks redden slightly at the compliment. “Thanks. Call it tender loving care. Listen, my Gran wants to meet everyone that I've told her about so she's throwing a little impromptu St. Patrick's Day party and want everyone to come.”

 

“Looking for a date?” Horatio asked, entering.

 

“No, my Gran....listen, are you busy or not? She's a very pushy Irishwoman. I wouldn't want to cross her,” Calleigh said.

 

Eric leaned back in his chair. “And she's a great cook and storyteller. I'm in. I know why your dad calls you Lambchop.” Eric let out a laugh.

 

“Were those pooka prints I saw on the trunk of your car?” she retorted and then laughed when he sobered up quickly.

 

Horatio chuckled, remembering stories from his own Irish grandparents, 'I'll be happy to met her if she's anything like my own grandmothers.”

 

“Horatio, she's a complete Irish storytelling handful,” Calleigh said with a sense of pride. She loved her Gran Maureen with all her heart..

 

“Then I'm in,” Horatio said as Natalia entered the break room for her morning cup of coffee.

 

“What's all the excitement about?” she asked.

 

“Calleigh's grandmother, very Irish and pushy grandmother, is in town and wants to meet everyone,”   Eric said.

 

“You're invited,” Calleigh said quickly, wanting Natalia to understand that she was more than welcome to the gathering of family. “You were just absent at the onset. I want you to come.”

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, really. Everything is set for 7:30 tonight. The only alcoholic drinks are: Bushmill's Irish Whiskey, Guinness Irish Stout and Smithwick's apple cider. Anything else is blasphamy. Trust me, you will leave my home more full and happy that you ever have been and your imagination will be fired with Irish faery stories, enough to make you look over your shoulder on the way home. It'll be a fun night. I guarntentee it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	4. Ceili

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I took some liberties with names, here. Nowhere in anything I've seen for CSI:Miami and it's characters have their full names been mentioned. And, just for the record, there is absolutely no meaning for Calleigh's name, not as it's currently spelled. However, the spelling is very Southern.

 

**Ceili**

  
  


  
  


"Calleigh, girl, the bread?" Maureen asked her granddaughter as she stirred the frying colcannon.

  
  


Calleigh looked over at her, her nose smeared with flour. "Two loaves in the oven and another two almost ready to go," she said as the bell rang.

  
  


Wiping her hands free of flour, Calleigh left the kitchen long enough to open the door and usher both Eric and Ryan in. "Make yourselves at home," she tossed over her shoulder as she returned to the kitchen, informing her Gran on the arrivals.

  
  


Instead of lounging in the living room as she expected them to do, the gentlemen followed her to the kitchen and leaned in the doorway, exchanging amused glances, watching the domestic display. Ryan, for one didn't know that Calleigh could boil water, let alone cook or bake. He watched in odd fascination as her slender fingers fluttered into the soft flour, mixing all the dry ingredients with a delicacy he didn't know she possessed. The doorbell rang, breaking the spell.

  
  


"I'll get it," Ryan said, tearing his eyes away from Calleigh hands; hands he's only seen work a computer keyboard, some power tool to retrieve evidence or fire a gun, not tenderly knead bread dough as she was doing just then. That's when he realized that he barely knew her outside of work and he looked forward to getting to know the rarely seen private Calleigh.

  
  


Eric chuckled at the younger man's interest, remembering the first time Calleigh had baked bread for him in the morning. After a very long and tiring case she had invited him and Speed over for some pizza and a movie. Speed had turned the invite down, but Eric had agreed. They'd both ended up falling asleep on the couch. He woke the next morning to the sound of someone in the kitchen. He had gotten off the couch and stood in Calleigh's kitchen doorway watching with the very same fascination as Wolfe was displaying just then "No, man, I got it. I've seen this before."

  
  


Voices sounded from the other room, a gravelly, whiskey toned male and a higher, bubbly female voice. Eric lead Horatio and Natalia over to the kitchen.

  
  


Maureen looked up from her frying pan, aghast as her granddaughter's apparent lack of proper manners. " _Ceili_ Margaret Fionnuala Duquesne, where are your manners?" she demanded.

  
  


"In the bowl with my fingers, covered in soda bread dough, Gran," Calleigh replied, wincing at the use of her proper full name. "Give me a minute."

  
  


Her face now properly reddened, Calleigh did her level best to extricate both of her hands from as much of the sticky bread dough as she could before rinsing them in the sink. She quickly ushered everyone into her comfortable living room.

  
  


"Ceili Margaret?" Eric pronounced carefully, an eyebrow raised in humor. "Fionnuala?"

  
  


She shoved him hard. "Shut...up...you." She turned to the rest of the team, all whom had nearly identical looks of humor on their faces. _Maybe inviting everyone over wasn't such a great idea after all._ "Make yourselves at home. I'll get you something to drink."

  
  


Calleigh beat a hasty retreat into the kitchen. She set about getting the tea mugs her Gran had given her when she first left for college. She carefully piled them onto a waiting tray, adding sugar, milk and a hot pot of tea. She added the still warm soda bread and a container of butter and precariously balanced it all in her arms. "Gran, you have no idea what you just started with them. I'll never hear the end of it."

  
  


"The end of what, muirnin?" Maureen asked, finally satisfied that the colcannon was properly fried and had enough golden, crunchy bits in it to be enjoyed by anyone who had a tongue.

  
  


"Not even Horatio knew my full name until now. Even my departmental performance record only has my middle initial," Calleigh said. "You're going to be the one that explains how I came to get such a unique name."

  
  


"Well, I'm the one that named ya, Ceili. And ya are mine, ya know," Maureen said, beginning to add fat sausages and a good knob of butter to the now cleared frying pan.

  
  


Calleigh shook her head, unable to stay irritated with her Gran for long. "When I'm done serving the tea, I'll come back in and you and help you."

  
  


"I'll not be havin' any of that. I'll finish up with the bangers and ya entertain your friends. I'll be out soon enough and I'll tell the story," Maureen said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  
  


Calleigh turned and left, knowing that arguing with Maureen Barry O'Sullivan was like arguing with the wind. She carried the tray and expertly slid it onto the coffee table.

  
  


"Alright! Soda bread!" Eric cried as he reached for the knife to cut slices.

  
  


"Eager much?"Natalia asked, pouring herself a cup of tea. "Oh, my, I didn't realize this was tea and not coffee."

  
  


"Would you rather have coffee? I can get you some," Calleigh offered, realizing that it was the first time that Natalia had been in her home.

  
  


"No, no, don't go to all that trouble. I really like tea. It was just a surprise, that's all. Not everybody serves it," Natalia said quickly, not wanting to hurt Calleigh's feelings. She took an appreciative sniff. "This is _not_ Lipton, is it?"

  
  


"No, it isn't," Horatio said, dropping a little sugar and milk into his and then taking a sip. "Barry's Gold Label, am I right?"

  
  


Calleigh gave him an appreciative nod. "Yeah, how did you know?"

  
  


"Irish grandparents, both sides," he replied, reaching for the still warm soda bread and slathering it generously with the Irish butter before taking a bite. He closed his eyes in pleasure, sighing. "Your Grandmother can bake like a dream."

  
  


"She didn't bake this loaf, Cal did. She was just finishing off a couple more loaves when Ryan and I got here," Eric said around his own mouthful.

  
  


"Eric Delko, didn't anyone tell you not to talk with your mouth full?" Calleigh said with mock horror.

  
  


"Speaking of full names," Ryan began.

  
  


"Don't start on me. My gun safe is in the corner," Calleigh said with a warning tone.

  
  


"I'm not, I just thought it might be fun to, you know, get it all out in the open," Ryan said. "Why should you be the only one here turning red?"

  
  


"Thanks, that was delicate," Calleigh said. "Let's start with you."

  
  


Ryan shrugged. In the scheme of things, his full name wasn't so bad. "Ryan Matthew Wolfe."

  
  


Calleigh smiled at him. "That's really nice. Hardly embarrassing. How about you, Horatio?"

  
  


Horatio set his tea cup down before speaking. "Horatio Padraig Michael Caine. Very ethnic. Padraig was supposed to be my first name, but my mother switched it to Horatio after her favorite author, Horatio Alger."

  
  


"Could have been worse, H," Eric laughed good-naturedly.

  
  


"Name where your mouth is Delko," Ryan challenged.

  
  


"Eric Pavelevich Delektorsky," he said seriously.

  
  


"Delektorsky?" Natalia asked.

  
  


"Yeah, my dad shortened it to Delko when he, my mom and my sisters came here from Cuba. Immigrant with a Russian last name from Cuba? Think about it," Eric said.

  
  


"Confess, Eric. You have a confirmation name," Calleigh wheedled.

  
  


"I don't have one," Eric hedged.

  
  


"Come on, I know you were confirmed. Your mother showed me the pictures," Calleigh persisted, loving the crimson blush creeping up his cheeks.

  
  


"Yvgeny," he mumbled quietly. "It was my grandfather's name, alright? Properly it's Eric Yvgeny Pavelevich Delektorsky."

  
  


"Well, that's no worse than Fionnuala, who is a heroine in Irish legend, I may add," Calleigh said.

  
  


"Hey Yvegeny...isn't that Russian for Eugene?" Ryan said.

  
  


Natalia smacked him hard before saying, "Natalia Consuela Carmen Annuncia Boa Vista. And you be nice. It's hard sometimes to have a very ethnic name."

  
  


Maureen came into the living room. "If you're all hungry, I have supper on the table. Ceili did say we're havin' supper."

  
  


Horatio was the first one to rise, recognizing something unnervingly familiar about her grandmother's tone and bearing. "Yes, ma'am." As Maureen humphed and nodded, leading everyone to the dining room table, Horatio leaned over to Calleigh and whispered, "You didn't warn us that she's a geriatric you."

  
  


"She's my grandmother; you couldn't guess?" Calleigh whispered back before taking her seat at the table.

  
  


Maureen insisted in serving everyone, including Calleigh, who sat there mortified that her own grandmother felt she needed to serve her in her own home, saying that the dishes needed to be set up properly. There was a generous lump of creamy and crunchy colcannon in the center, then several fat, juicy bangers leaning on the sides and it all topped by warm, caramelized onions. Horatio sighed and reached for his Guinness, remembering many a pleasant evening in New York at the local Irish pub with friends after a long shift at the department. The evening was going to be yet another pleasant one as well.

  
  


"Alright, Gran, tell your story." Calleigh prompted, beginning to eat.

  
  


Maureen settled in, taking bites between phrases and giving the story the lilt of an Irish faerytale or legend. "Well, ya all heard me use Ceili's full name just a bit ago. There's a bit of a story ta how it became her name. Ya see, when she was still in her ma's belly, her parents were thinkin' of namin' her Margaret after my sister that was killed by an IRA bomb back in Belfast. 'Twas fine by me, rememberin' my sister like that. Then my girl came screamin' inta the world, she did, givin' her ma a hard time, too. Her da was away in a heavy court case several towns away and my Ceili wouldn't wait for anyone but her Gran ta be there so she could be born. Good lungs on that one, there is. Anyway, as her ma lay there all exhausted and sleepin' the nurse asked me what ta name her. I was floatin' away with the angels, I was, so happy was I that I had my precious first granddaughter in my arms. I felt like dancin' and singin' lookin' down at her tiny rosy pink face and soft tufts of silvery blonde hair. Despite just bein' born she had the milkiest pale skin I had ever seen on a babe and so, with just a peek of her fair shoulders, I chose Fionnuala, the name of an Irish heroine that protected her brothers beneath her white wings. I opened my mouth to say Margaret, but the word ceili came out instead. The nurse wrote it down, horribly misspellin' it, but it stayed all the same. She has always been and always will be my Ceili; my celebration."

  
  


Calleigh looked down at the tabletop, blinking back tears as appreciative sounds came from her teammates. "Thanks Gran," she whispered hoarsely, then rose and threw her arms around her grandmother and kissed her before settling back in her own seat.

  
  


"Mrs O'Sullivan, that's a beautiful story," Natalia said, wiping tears from her eyes and missing her own grandmother terribly.

  
  


Ryan cleared his throat. "Calleigh was telling us that you're a fantastic storyteller and she's right. Do you have more?"

  
  


"Ryan, lad, I do, but those are for after dinner and around the fire," she replied, winking at her granddaughter who had set up the fire pit in the back yard earlier in the evening. "For now, children, eat and enjoy. Slainte!"

 


	5. Storytelling

**_Storytelling_ **

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The fire cast it's soft glow over the faces gathered around it's warmth against the relative cool of the mid-March evening. Gran Maureen held them enthralled by her every word. She had long since cracked open her special cargo of home brew mead, a fermented honey wine, passing the strong, sweet beverage around. The sweetness of the wine paired gently with the cold leftover bangers and slices of Granny Smith apples that she made ready while Calleigh had lit the fire.

 

Calleigh's friends had long ago stopped calling her Mrs. O'Sullivan and now called her Gran Maureen by her invitation, and she already loved them nearly as if they were her family, indeed. They were so very obviously her Calleigh's family of the heart, and a better family to her than the one genetics dealt her. She could see their love for each other shining in each of their eyes. Her worry over her first born granddaughter's welfare eased somewhat knowing that these people around the fire would care for Calleigh, come what may. They were to be treasured and that's why she cracked out the mead and shared the very special and treasured beverage with them.

 

Maureen noticed that Calleigh and Horatio were the two that had imbibed the most. She knew Calleigh could drink mead until the cows came home and she'd never feel the effects, as she grew up on the stuff and had an extreme high tolerance to it. Horatio, well, she attributed it to his Celtic heritage of many generations of mead drinkers from before the great High King Brian Boru to the present. In fact, they all seemed to have quite an appetite for it and she was glad. Mead was a drink fit for the Gods and the ancient pre-Christian Celts brewed and drank it on a daily basis and even used it as an offering in prayer to the Old Gods. She knew something of the Old Gods of Ireland. And it was those tales that she told these new grandchildren of her heart.

 

“Gran, the story of the Children of Lir, please? You know it's my favorite,” Calleigh begged, so much like she used to as a child.

 

“Very well, muirnin. I'll tell the tale. But first I need ta quench my thirst,” Maureen said, taking a long series of swallows of the mead. She settled in to tell the tale. “Long ago in the north of Ireland lived a great king by the name of Lir. He had four wonderful and talented children. Fionnuala, the eldest and only girl and the Aed, Conn and Fiacra, his sons. All was well until poor, lonely, Lir decided ta marry the evil sorceress Aiofe. Now, good Lir knew not that Aiofe was an evil sorceress for she was learned and beautiful and had ensnared him in a love spell.

 

“Aoife was jealous, you see, for the love that Lir showered upon all his children, for they were the center of his life. One mornin' she told them that they had a great journey before them ta go and visit their most noble and magical grandfather, Bodh Dearg, the King of the Tuatha de Danaan. The boys whooped and shouted for the adventure, but Fionnuala the eldest and wisest had her doubts. They had never gone ta their grandfather's before. She didn't trust Aiofe and knew that a plot was brewin'.”

 

“She was a good CSI,” Eric said, his voice slightly slurred from drinking so much mead. When Calleigh, almost unconsciously leaned on him, he placed an arm around her and drew her in.

 

“Aye, boyo, she was. The very first in Irish history,” Maureen said, her skills at bardic storytelling picking up on the next hook to draw them all into the story. “So there they were all travellin' together when they reached Lough, or lake, Derravaragh. Aiofe called a rest stop and told the children that they should go and refresh themselves with a swim in the lake. The younger and more trusting boys cheered and shot off into the lake, splashing and shouting in joy. The suspicious and wary Aiofe hung back, certain that mischief was meant there. Aiofe, knowin' that Fionnuala would only do her bidding if she was ordered, ordered her into the lough with her brothers. Once all the children were in the water, Aiofe showed her true nature and, takin' out a stolen Druid's wand, she spoke this curse: Children of Lir, your good fortune is over! From now on, waterfowl will be your family and your cries will be mingled with the cries of birds.

 

“Instantly Fionnuala and her brothers were transformed into four beautiful white swans. Fionnuala swam ta the bank and pleaded for their fates. “Aiofe, please, do this not ta us! Please, if you must make us swans, set a limit ta it.”

 

Aiofe, already havin' what she wanted, could be merciful. “Ya shall not be swans forever, but shall need ta keep your shape for nine hundred years. Ya shall spend three hundred years here on Lough Derravaragh, three hundred years on the Sea of Moyle and three hundred years by the Atlantic Ocean. When a king from the north marries a queen from the south and ya hear the sound of a bell pealin', your exile will be over. A holy man must know your names for the spell ta be broken. Until then, though ya will have the appearance of swans, ya will keep your own hearts, your own minds and your own voices and your music will be so sweet that it will console all who hear it. But go away from me now for the very sight of ya torments me!” And, horrified by her most evil deed, she fled from the shore and rode her chariot all the way to Bodb's Dearg's fort.

 

“The great Faery King was disappointed that his grandchildren were not with their stepmother, but Aiofe had a story ready. She told the great king that she had come all alone because of Lir's great and terrible jealousy of Bodh's love of the children and would not let her bring them t his fort.

 

“Now, this great king of the Tuatha de Danaan, this great Faery King was terribly suspicious and sent the very next day a message ta Lir for he and his children ta come and spend time with him in his great magical faery fort. Lir was greatly alarmed and set off the very next morning all alone.

 

“From the middle of Lough Derravaragh the children saw the approaching company and swam furiously when they saw their father. They called out ta him frantically, but, although he heard his childrens' voices, he could find them nowhere. Suddenly, as if reeling from a blow ta his very heart, he understood. “My children, how can I help ya?” he asked, his soul full of anguish.

 

“Ya cannot help us, da,” Fionnuala cried, “This is Aiofe's work. We are doomed ta be swans for nine hundred years and no power can change it.” She could see her father's sorrow, and, remembering Aiofe's words, began to sing ta him and his men. Her brothers joined in and lulled the entire party into a deep and restful slumber.

 

“In the morning they awoke, and, with this new story of treachery, they rode for Bodh's stronghold. Once there, Lir told his tale ta the great Faery King. Bodh's fury could find no bounds. His grandchildren had been harmed. He roared his anger and then calmed. He called Aiofe before him, and, usin' Faery magic, made her a sprite of the air. People say on a night very like this one, that one can hear her still, moanin' in the wind.

 

“The very next day Lir and Bodh Dearg went to the shores of Lough Derravaragh, and there they stayed while the years became centuries and one day Fionnuala knew that it was time ta go. As night fell, the enchanted Lir and his friends were sung ta sleep for a final time by and Fionnuala and her brothers and in the morning, the siblings set forth for the cold Sea of Moyle.

 

“This band of sea between Ireland and Scotland is a stormy band, indeed, and it battered Fionnuala and her brothers in the winters with ice and hail. Their silky feathers became brittle as glass and every spring, they were flung ta the rocks by gales as fierce as ever was a gale. One very terrible night, the storms were more fierce than ever before and battered all four swans mercilessly. Fionnuala could hardly fly, so wrecked were her beautiful feathers. Yet, somehow, she managed to make it ta the Seal's Rock, Carraignarone, and landed. As the sun rose and dried her battered feathers, Fionnuala could not see her brothers anywhere. After hours of waitin', Conn appeared, barely clearin' the waves. He landed, exhausted, next ta Fionnuala. He crept beneath her right wing for warmth and comfort. Shortly after that Fiacra arrived and snuggled himself beneath her left wing. Then finally, Aed arrived, barely alive. He sheltered himself gratefully beneath his sister's right wing next to Conn, who gave him the warmest spot. The brothers all rested until their strength returned.

 

“Three hundred years had passed slowly for the swan children, but, finally, it was their time ta go. Fionnuala was joyful. “On the way, we shall pass over our father's land and see him.” she said.

 

“Alas, the swan Fionnuala didn't understand the amount of time that had passed. As she and her brothers flew over a new Ireland, seeing new villages and towns where none used to be, a feeling of despair set upon them. Perhaps their names would not be remembered. Perhaps they would be swans forever.

 

“Their hearts nearly cracked with grief, knowing that their father and the Ireland they loved was gone, possibly forever, they flew on, keening their lament. They finally came ta rest on the western coast of Ireland, so very far from where they had once called home. It was in inland shelter called Inish Glora that they found rest in. There they sang their lament and birds from all over Ireland flocked to hear their matchless song

 

“Over the centuries, a new faith had emerged. A new, attractive faith from the far southern reaches of the Middle East, yet still, in many places the Old Ways ruled. And, in this small patch of the Old Ways, Fionnuala and her brothers found themselves. An old hermit, in fact a Druid priest, found them. He observed their collective damage of the poor, battered swan's bodies. He tolled a bell to bring them closer. They wearily waddled themselves ashore.

 

“Come, Children of Lir, I shall not harm ya. It is for your sake that I came ta this island. Come with me and I shall help ya,” the old Druid said. The children did trust him and allowed him to fasten silver collars around their necks and connected them all by a silver chain so that they would never be separated again. With great relief, the children lived with the old Druid, safe and happy once more.

 

“Now, while the children lived with the Druid, a King from the north, named Lairgren, married a Queen from the south and through this marriage, Aiofe's spell had been broken. The Queen from the south asked for the remarkable swans as a wedding gift, but as Lairgren lead the swans from the Druid's hut, their plumage began to fall away. Knowin' that it was time for their captivity as swans to end, the Druid whispered their names and watched as they transformed into four frail old people.

 

“Fionnuala looked up at the kind Druid. “We are dying, my kind friend. Bury us where we found peace.” Soon after the children of Lir died peacefully and the Druid buried them as Fionnuala requested, erecting a stone over their graves.”

 

“That's such as sad, yet beautiful story,” Natalia said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Will you tell us another?”

 

Gran Maureen yawned. “I think not, my dear. It's long past my bedtime and I can see all of ya are getting' sleepy as well. And I see my storytellin' had it's usual effect on Calleigh.”

 

All eyes turned to Calleigh, who had fallen asleep in Eric's arms. He gently shook her awake. “Hey, time for the party to be over.”

 

“I am so sorry for falling asleep on everyone,” Calleigh apologized, extricating herself from Eric's arms. “It's just the meal and the fire and the mead-”

 

“Calleigh, it's alright,” Horatio assured her.

 

“Yeah, it's not like we'd have left you outside all night,” Ryan said.

 

Calleigh blushed and rose to give her grandmother a hand taking the leftovers in and cleaning up in the kitchen while the men took care of the fire pit.

 

“So, will your young man be stayin' over tonight?” Gran Maureen asked as soon as the two of them were in the kitchen.

 

Calleigh's mouth dropped open. “What? Gran, no. He's not my young man. We aren't dating.”

 

“By all the faery hills in Ireland, why not?”

 

“Because......because.....we're just not.”

 

“Who's not?” Eric asked, entering the kitchen with dirty glasses. He placed them gently in the sink and waited for an answer.

 

“We're not.”

 

“Not what?”

 

Calleigh sighed in exasperation. “Not dating. Gran has this insane notion that we're seeing each other. I've tried to tell her we're not, but-”

 

“And I've been tryin' ta tell her what I see, but my stubborn granddaughter is too blind ta see what's right in front of her. The two of ya care about each other more than just friends. I can see it clearly and so can everyone else around ya. Now stop beatin' around the bush and get ta it,” Maureen said, leaving them alone in the kitchen.

 

“She doesn't hold back, does she?” Eric asked awkwardly, wondering, not for the first time, if Calleigh felt the same way about him as he did about her.

 

Calleigh could feel her cheeks color just slightly under Eric's expectant gaze. “No, she doesn't. And, the thing is, is that she's usually right.”

 

Eric hesitated ever-so-slightly before asking, “Is she right now?”

 

Calleigh couldn't look at him; she was suddenly too nervous and too shy. “Maybe, she could be, that is if you're agreeing with me that she's usually right.”

 

“Then she must be right.” Eric said simply, warmth spreading through his entire body.

 

Calleigh felt her knees go very weak in relief and she leaned on the counter. “I'm, uhm, not really sleepy anymore and if you're up to it, we could talk after I send everyone home.”

 

“Sure. I'll help you clean up,” Eric agreed and moved back to the sink, running the water. “You go ahead and send everyone home and then we can talk. Your grandmother won't mind my staying, will she?”

 

Calleigh smiled one of her most joy filled smiles at him. “Who do you think suggested it?”

 

 

 

 


	6. Talking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very happy St. Patrick's Day to those that celebrate.

**_Talking_ **

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The dishes done and guests departed left them only with each other. The silence was deafening and somehow uncomfortable. Calleigh checked on her Gran one last time before joining Eric outside. She closed the sliding glass doors and took a seat next to him.

 

“So,” she began.

 

“So,” he echoed.

 

Calleigh had never been as nervous around Eric as she was at that moment. “Gran thinks there might be something between us.”

 

Eric turned to look at her. “Well, I know I'd like there to be.”

 

She smiled slightly at him. “There you go again; wearing your heart on your sleeve. It's one of the things that I love about you, Eric. You're emotionally honest.”

 

“So, what are you saying?” he asked, puzzled. It seemed so obvious to him when they were in the kitchen a while ago.

 

“I'm saying that this is one of the hardest conversations I've ever had because I'm not good with talking about feelings. But you know that,” Calleigh exploded softly. “You know that I trust you with every fiber of my being and I can't even dream about not having you in my life. Which is why it scares me to no end to jeopardize that by starting a relationship. If it goes bad I'll lose you forever and......”

 

Eric sensed that she was on the verge of something, something he knew that they had to discuss before they even held hands in a altered relationship. “Go on,” he urged gently.

 

“I don't know if I could live with that,” she blurted. “I've had my heart broken more than enough to know that having it broken from a failed relationship with you, wouldn't just break it, my heart would be shattered forever.”

 

He reached out and stroked her cheek, getting encouragement by her leaning into his touch. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, kissing her fears away, but that would be making light of something so serious for her. She didn't just want to be his lover, she valued and treasured the friendship they shared. “Cal, it doesn't have to end like that. Even if it doesn't work out, I don't want to lose you. I'll fight to keep our friendship no matter what. I would hope that you'd do the same.”

 

She nodded, suddenly very close to tears. “I would.”

 

“Then let's give it a try,” he said, then took her hand in his. He gently stroked her knuckles, almost surprised at how soft and delicate her hand was. He knew how strong her hands were. They had to be to handle the firearms and power tools that she operated to do her job. Then he remembered how tenderly she kneaded the bread dough. He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it and repeated, “Let's give it a try.”

 

She was silent for a long while, fighting tears of joy. He understood her fears and his heart seemed to echo them. They would be careful for each other; holding the other more precious than themselves. It would work. It had to. It had to because they couldn't afford to lose the other. She raised her face to his, eyes glistening with the unshed joyful tears. “Yes.”

 

Instead of madly kissing her, enticing her into actions that could move wildly out of control for the both of them, he enfolded her in an embrace, cuddling her. “Yes,” he echoed before tilting her chin up to him and placing the gentlest of kisses on her lips.

 

She wanted to deepen the kiss but could feel that Eric was holding back and being deliberately gentle. “Eric, I'm not made of glass.”

 

“I know. I don't want to go too fast. I want this to be special and real and I don't want to scare you off. You've been hurt more than anyone ever should. I want you to feel comfortable and unhurried,” he said, revealing that inner gentleman that she knew him to be.

 

“So far so good,” she said. “But an upping in the ante isn't too fast.” She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him down to her, kissing him passionately. A human need for oxygen was the only thing that broke them apart.

 

“I thought that you wouldn't want to go too fast,” Eric said, placing all manner of little kisses around her mouth.

 

“This isn't too fast. It's only kissing. A lot of kissing, but only kissing,” she replied breathlessly. “Nothing I can't handle.”

 

Eric pulled her in closer and they almost overbalanced the patio chairs. They broke apart, laughing.

 

“Why don't we take this inside and continue on a piece of furniture that won't tip over?” Calleigh said, rising and holding out her hand to Eric.

He took it, and grinning, followed her inside and onto the couch.

 

 

ECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECECE

 

 

They were still on the couch, nestled into each other's arms when Gran Maureen woke the next morning and peeked into the living room to check on Calleigh. She reached over and took the quilt from the back of the couch and covered them with it. “Now that's more like it,” she said softly, retreating to the kitchen to get breakfast going.

Eric awoke first to find Calleigh's back pressed against his chest. He rose up on his elbow and looked down at her, almost unable to believe what had happened between them the night before. It had gone really no further than just kissing, but he could wait. She'd finally admitted to having feelings for him and he was content to take things at her pace. He softly ran a finger down her cheek and then traced her lips.

She smiled, feeling Eric's finger on her lips. Giving up the pretense of sleeping she rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. “Good morning,” she said lazily.

“Good morning,” he replied before leaning over and giving her a few light kisses.

“What did I say about teasing me like that?” she asked him.

“I forget,” he said, continuing to tease her with feather light kisses.

She placed a hand behind his head and pulled him more firmly to her. “I don't like to be teased,” she said, playfully nipping at his lower lip, asking permission for something deeper. He gave in and they continued until the sounds of pots and pans being moved broke them apart. “My Gran,” Calleigh panted, out of breath.

Eric let go of her and sat up. “Yeah, I sort of forgot about that. Why didn't you warn me?”

Calleigh tucked her hair behind her ears. “I was a little distracted.”

“Yeah, well it would have been embarrassing to be walked in on,” Eric said, beginning to fold the quilt.

“She's here until Sunday, so we're just going to have to contain ourselves,” Calleigh said as Eric embraced her from behind, nuzzling behind her ear. She turned in his arms and gave him a soft push. “Kissing me there isn't going to help, Eric, believe me, it doesn't help.”

Eric couldn't help teasing just a little. “Did I find something?”

“Yes, you did. Now I'm going to take a shower and change,” Calleigh said, almost exasperated.

“Need any help?”

“No, but my Gran might. Why don't you go and help her while I get myself presentable,” she replied, loving the idea of a shared shower, but knowing that that really was too fast too soon. She turned and made her way down the hall.

Eric watched her go, happiness radiating out of him. He wandered into the kitchen. “Good morning Gran Maureen,” he said. “Need any help?”

“No, not at all, Eric. Tea is ready. Help yourself,” she said with her back turned. “So how did your talk with Calleigh go last night?”

Eric gulped down a mouthful of tea before replying, “Great. We decided to give it a try. After that, there wasn't all that much talking.”

She flashed a knowing grin over her shoulder at him. “That's what I thought when I saw the two of ya cuddled up on the couch together this mornin'. Now, Eric, my boy, let me tell ya this: don't ya be hurtin' her, lad. She talks a good game but has been too trustin' and open in the past and it's come back and hurt her somethin' fierce. Be gentle with her heart.”

“I intend to, Gran. I never want to hurt her. I've waited too long to have her that I'm not going to do anything to cause her any pain at all,” Eric said honestly. “I know about the walls she's built to keep from being hurt. “I'll be gentle with her heart.”

Maureen crossed the kitchen to him and pat his cheek. “Good, then I'll not have to be shinin' up my shotgun.”

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
